House Calls
by Rinny Queenston
Summary: Denmark just wants to have dinner with the family, but his plans change when he learns something surprising about Norway's condition. Oneshot.


**I really need to write about other characters... oh well. This is just a silly oneshot that formed while I was taking notes on a headcanon I have, nothing serious. So yes, enjoy~ **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or it's characters. **

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><p>I couldn't help but be excited when I slid on the hardwood floor up to my phone, my socks making my advancement toward the little contraption smooth and fast. I snatched up the phone and put it up to my ear, dialing my best friend's number with practiced ease, the beeping every time my finger touched the button changing in pitches and tones until I was finished, the beeping being replaced by a subtle purring. I bounced in excitement, a giddy smile on my face that couldn't be smashed by <em>any<em> insult my friend could throw at me.

'_Hello?_' Norway croaked over the phone. God he sounded horrible! Like he was sick or something! Which was bad since I wanted all us Nordics to go out for dinner in Copenhagen later!

"Hej, Norge!" I singsonged. "Are you okay, bud? You sound sick."

'_I… guess you could say that…_' Norway groaned and I could hear what sounded like fabric rustling on the other end. '_Just… oh my god Danmark I feel like I'm dyingggg…_'

It was easy to hear the miserableness in his voice, and of course I had to be there to help him through it. "Want me to come over? Ah hell I'll be over as fast as I can! Hold on Norge!" I slammed down the phone and dashed off to grab my coat, not having to worry about packing clothes since us Nordics pretty much had wardrobes at everyone else's house.

Getting on board the ferry was easy, what wasn't easy was trying to be patient as the water rippled, lifted, and fell around the bow of the ship. People around me were fairly cheerful but kept to themselves, kids attempting to look over the side of the ship to look into the dark and cold waters. After what felt like forever the ship made landfall in Norway, and I sprinted off the ship the second the ramp was lowered onto the dock, almost skipping the passport check at the end, which would've been bad since I would probably have gotten arrested. Thank goodness my wallet was in my coat pocket when I grabbed it…

I called a taxi and it came and got me, taking me to Norway's house in the middle of nowhere (he liked solitude, and plenty of forestry that he could lose himself in), the driver almost getting us lost when he failed to notice the turn behind a massive tree. After a slightly stressful ride I finally found the adorable three story house, the forest suddenly becoming a clearing when we got close enough. I paid the driver the cash he was owed and quickly got out of the car before he pulled away, and I all but sprinted to the front door of Norway's house, letting myself in so Norway didn't have to get up or anything.

"Norge!" I hollered into the house, tramping up the stairs without bothering to shed my coat or shoes. I shoved open Norway's door at the end of the hall and found him lying face down in his pillow, arms under the pillow with the sheets and blankets in a bundle on the floor. I ran up beside the bed and hesitated, not knowing whether I could touch him or not. "Norge, what's the matter? How can I help? Did ya take medicine? D'ya hurt anywhere?" I was surprised he didn't try and punch me with how much I was asking but I couldn't help it… I was worried.

"Shut up…" I heard him mumble, and I tried my best to keep my mouth closed. "If you want to help you can throw out all the food in my kitchen…"

I blinked and tilted my head, "What? Why?"

"Because if I so much as look at it I'm going to throw up… and I really, really want something…" He groaned again and curled up, cradling his stomach.

My eyes widened and jolted, "Norge are you sayin' yer pregnant or somethin'?"

He rolled over quickly and pushed himself up on his arms while he gave me a dark and evil glare, watered down by how tired he appeared. "Of course not, you idiot. Just… ugh…" He collapsed back down onto his pillow, a puff of air escaping his lips. "I just ate too many cakes and stuff over Christmas… and after Christmas…"

A blush tickled my cheeks as I tried to kick the idea of a swollen-bellied Norway out of my mind; I settled beside the skinny man on the bed, reaching over to run my fingers through his ash blonde hair. "What? That's all? Well ya know that eatin' too much sugar n'stuff s'bad for you, right?"

He shrugged, "Didn't care… had too much… ate nothin' but the sweets all winter…"

I all but exploded when he said those words, "WHAT? Nothin' at all? Not even a simple sandwich?"

He shook his head, "Wanted to get rid of all the sweets before they went bad but couldn't bring myself to throw them out while they were still good… just please, Danmark, get rid of it before I eat more. Because holy hell I have cravings for cinnamon rolls like you wouldn't believe."

A sudden annoyance prodded my mind at the thought of Norway craving _Swedish_ food but I shoved it away, not wanting to maybe make him feel worse. "Akay… but I'm stayin' to make sure you don't go on an all-sweet diet again, kay? I'll make ya some lamb stew er somethin'."

Norway groaned, "Don't talk about food…"

I chuckled and stood up from Norway's bed, striding over to the hallway. "I'm actually gonna clean out yer kitchen and buy ya some new food. If you've only eaten the sweets all winter I bet you either don't have anything else, or all you have has gone bad. If ya want somethin' special you can ask me before I go t'the store or ya can call me, kay?"

He groaned again, "Again with the foooood… but fine…"

I smiled and descended to the main floor, walking down the small hallway before turning into his silver and blue styled kitchen. Grabbing a garbage bag from a cabinet near the sink I opened the fridge, amazed by the contents. Cakes. And cookies. They littered each of the shelves and they were almost all gone… I could tell they were gifts from the different varieties and the notes that were taped onto the plastic lids. No wonder he had such a bad stomach ache… I cleaned out the fridge, nothing being left behind except a nearly empty jug of milk that was luckily nowhere close to expiring. I then went to the cabinets, nearly being assaulted by the smell of sugar and baked goods. Cinnamon rolls and pastries dominated the pantry, so much so I couldn't see anything else _besides_ sugary snacks. Licorice seemed to be hanging from the sides and the scent of coffee was barely noticeable, which was extremely bizarre since it was _Norway_.

Cleaning that out, too, I saw the damage of the winter-long sugar diet of Norway: there was nothing left in the house besides a small package of coffee, a jug of milk, and a can of soup that was tucked away in the back corner of the pantry. It took three garbage bags to get rid of all the cakes and other sugary goods, and I would have to tell everyone to _never_ give so many sugary sweets to Norway at one time… it was amazing that the Norwegian was still so small. I grabbed a notepad from the Norwegian's living room and began scratching down things to buy at the store. The floor creaked just outside the doorway of the kitchen, catching my attention; I turned in the stool and saw Norway tiredly rubbing his eyes in the doorway, hair a mess and pin missing from his blonde locks.

"Inspectin' the damage?" I joked, and he shook his head.

"Need a drink… I'm dyin' of thirst." His deadpanned voice was scratchy and I wondered how long he was curled up in his bed. He approached the sink and turned on the tap, bending over to drink directly from the glimmering, silver pipe.

When he stood back up he turned and leaned against the island across from me, his arm that wasn't supporting his weight slipping under his shirt to scratch at his chest, revealing a slightly rounder stomach than I was used to seeing. I snickered and he caught where my eyes were looking, looking down at his belly himself before retracting his arm from his shirt and pulling it down over his pale skin.

"Don't be so shy," I joked, "it's what ya get for livin' off cookies and cakes for a few months."

"Shut up," he ordered, "I don't laugh at your blubber."

I rolled my eyes, "Nope but you poke it and use it as a pillow when we watch TV, so I find it fair payback."

His cheeks barely revealed a slightly pink hue before he walked around the island and stole the stool next to mine. "Anyway, what _do_ I have after all that crap was taken out?"

"Coffee, milk, and a can of soup." I said, and his head turned so his eyes could look into mine, wide and non-believing.

"Seriously?"

"Yep."

He groaned and slumped onto the countertop, his head burrowing into his arms. "Never again."

"Are you sure?" I chuckled, not believing this sweet-loving, bakery-thieving man could ever give up the treats.

"Yep. I'm sugar-intolerant now." He deadpanned, and I could only wonder how long that would last.

"Anyway, I'm off t'the store. If ya need somethin' just call, kay?"

"I don't care what you get…" He droned, looking up so his indigo eyes met my blue ones, "just come back and cook me something." His voice was different when he spoke those words, barely any emotion in them but enough for me to notice, and I grinned before giving him a soft hug, careful of his probably very-painful belly before trotting off for the living room, halting in the doorway to turn to the blonde.

"Don't worry, _darling_, I'll be home in time for dinner." I joked, and I hurriedly ran off before he could find something sharp and heavy to throw at me.


End file.
